Fated (Pyte/Sentinel 5)

She felt like hell.

“My poor face!” the little annoying bastard whined from the bathroom where he was probably still staring in the mirror, crying over the little cut she’d given him.

She snorted as she licked her muzzle and shifted her head to the side so that she was using her large paws as a pillow as she sighed, ignoring the cries of pain coming from the bathroom and focused her attention on the man sitting on the large leather chair, glaring at her.

God, what she wouldn’t give to be able to flip him off, but if she wanted to do that then she would have to shift back to human and she really just didn’t feel like doing that right now. Besides, the moment that she shifted back she’d most likely get sick and that really wasn’t enough of an incentive to make her want to shift. Then of course, was the fact that if she shifted back to human, the asshole who’d saved her life and marked her would expect her to talk, thank him for saving her life, but then again, she really wasn’t in the mood to grovel to the bastard so in werewolf form, she stayed.

“Shift back,” the bossy bastard demanded with a bored sigh as he continued to scowl at her, but she just wasn’t in the mood to deal with this right now. So, instead she simply sighed again, closed her eyes and settled in for a nap.

“This isn’t part of our deal, Kara,” Drew said, interrupting what promised to be a very nice nap.

“Oh, God! My face!” came another pathetic cry for attention that they both simply ignored.

“Kara, I’m not fucking kidding. Shift. Back. Now,” he bit out, sounding incredibly pissed.

Not that she cared, because she really didn’t.

He could sit there, whine, bitch and yell at her all day and she wouldn’t care. She just wanted to lay here and feel bad for herself for a little while until she was forced to shift ba

ck and deal with the nightmare that was her life.

Maybe she should go to the country now while the Pack was in the city and find a cave or something where she could hide out for the next thirty or forty years or until she came up with a better plan. Since that was unlikely, she was probably looking at a lifetime of catching fish with her fangs and hunting down the occasional deer when the opportunity presented itself.

Then again, since she was planning on feeling sorry for herself for at least the first decade, she probably would just live off fish for a while or whatever happened to crawl inside her cave. Maybe by the time that she was ready to reemerge and rejoin civilization again everyone that wanted her dead would be long gone.

It was possible, she thought with a groan as she shifted onto her other side. Every twenty years or so, they were forced to move before humans started asking questions and pointing out the fact that they weren’t aging. Staying in any one area for too long would bring unnecessary attention that their kind didn’t need and put them all at risk.

They’d be gone, assuming new lives somewhere and she could reclaim her old one, or at the very least she could create a better life than this one. It was something to look forward to, she told herself with a depressed little sigh as she licked her chops and settled in for a nice long nap.

“Someone get me a goddamn plastic surgeon before this heals!” the big baby that had somehow made Beta cried hysterically, making her roll her eyes with a groan as she rolled back over, praying the whining would stop so that she could get some sleep.

“Fucking baby,” Drew murmured, and for once they were in complete agreement about something.

Chapter 9

“You can’t be fucking serious,” he said, sighing heavily as he pinched the bridge of his nose, because seriously, this could not be fucking happening.

To answer him, the large female werewolf baring his mark decided to bare her teeth with a warning growl. Apparently she wasn’t fucking moving, which was a problem since this was the night of the full moon and he needed to get his Pack out of the city before they started sprouting fur and howling at the goddamn moon.

“Kara,” he bit out in warning only to get a growl in return. “We need to get the fuck out of the city,” he snarled, letting his eyes shift to silver and his fangs slide down in the only warning that she was going to-

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he demanded in pure outrage.

He was her fucking mate, the Alpha of the most powerful Pack in Boston and she had the nerve to-

“Don’t even fucking think of it,” he snarled when she moved to climb back up the stairs and return to his loft. He leapt in front of her, landing on the stairs above her and growled the last fucking warning that she was going to get.

She growled right back and there was no mistaking its meaning, move or she would go through him. Like he was going to let that slide, especially after all the bullshit she’d put him through over the last two days.

Allowing his human fangs to elongate even further, he stepped down the stairs until he was eye to eye with the large beast that was quickly proving to be a giant pain in the ass. They could control their shifts and because of that they were always one hundred percent in control, but his Pack wasn’t.

They healed faster than a human and could technically live forever as long as they were extremely careful, but Pack meant you were weak, meant you were not in control of your shift and that was a serious fucking problem when you lived in Boston. He needed to get his Pack and this pain in the ass out of the city before nightfall or he’d end up spending the next five hours playing roundup and chaining his Pack up in the basement.

It would keep the humans safe, but since a Pack member could only shift three days a month, they needed to be able to run off energy, hunt and let their beast have complete freedom. Placing them in the cells downstairs with chains would make their anxiety go up and make the next time they shifted volatile, because the beast inside had been completely trapped. Not being able to run during the three nights a month for a shifter was fucking torture.

Literally.

Masters loved to do that to the shifters they’d been able to get their hands on over the years. They forced them to act as attack dogs, keeping them chained three-hundred and sixty-five days a year, because after missing two shifts, a werewolf lost his